


Color Theory

by always_an_anxious_mess, Ecinue



Series: and if you can stay then i’ll show you the way [2]
Category: Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Banter, Dissociation, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Evil Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Fluff, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Healing, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Niki | Nihachu, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Recovery, Sad Tubbo (Video Blogging RPF), Suicide Attempt, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Tubbo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_an_anxious_mess/pseuds/always_an_anxious_mess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecinue/pseuds/Ecinue
Summary: 5 times Tommy needed help and the 1 time he was able to help someone else.(A sequel to “I Saved you Tommy, be Grateful. Read that first because this might not make sense otherwise!)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: and if you can stay then i’ll show you the way [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114571
Comments: 187
Kudos: 1350
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. Ranboo

“Ranboo!”

The enderman hybrid in question blinked and turned around, looking for the source of the voice that had called his name.

Phil was standing on his front porch, waving in order to catch his attention.

“Tommy’s awake,” Phil told him, as soon as he realized Ranboo had noticed him. “He’s uh... freaking out. He won’t let any of us near him. Could you try?”

“Why me? We barely knew each other before...” Ranboo trailed off, not having to say the next words to be understood. “I mean, of course I will, but still why me?”

“He seemed the most relaxed around you when we first went to get him, remember?” Phil sighed, stepping to the side in order to make room for Ranboo through the doorway. “I honestly think you’re our best shot at getting through to him. He won’t let anyone near him, not even Tubbo or Ghostbur.”

Ranboo ducked his head in order to avoid smacking it on the top of the doorframe as he entered Phil’s house. He’d never been in the house before, but it was surprisingly larger than it looked on the outside.

Phil led him up a steep set of stairs, where Tubbo was standing outside a particular door with a worried look on his face. He glanced at Ranboo, but didn’t acknowledge his presence other than that.

Ranboo peeked his head around the door, looking into the room warily.

Tommy was sitting upright in a bed on the far wall, trembling like a leaf in the wind and his eyes blown wide open. He looked the same as he had the last time Ranboo saw him, when he went with everyone to go rescue him from exile two days ago. He looked dirty, malnourished, and terrified.

Ghostbur was on the other side of the room, hovering uncertainly in the corner.

“Hey Tommy,” Ranboo said uncertainly, causing the blonde boy in question to snap his head around towards him. “Can I come in?”

Tommy stared at him, unmoving, for several seconds. The eye contact was making Ranboo uncomfortable, the enderman side of him hissing in annoyance at it. Ranboo, however, had vast amounts of experience with ignoring the enderman side of himself, so he knew his discomfort wouldn’t show on his face.

Then something softened ever so slightly in Tommy’s eyes. Eyes that were once blue, then had been green, and were now a stormy grayish color. The boy’s gaze shifted ever so slightly to Ranboo’s left, staring just over his shoulder and at the wall.

Something Ranboo recognized.

When Tommy and Ranboo had first met, Ranboo had explained why he had such a strong avoidance of eye contact when the blonde had bluntly asked. Tommy understood practically instantly, and would always stare just over Ranboo’s left shoulder instead of looking at him in the eyes, to make sure the taller boy was more comfortable.

Tommy _remembered_.

Ranboo found himself smiling, because that was good, wasn’t it? Tommy was remembering something, at least. That was good.

“Ask him what color he is!” Ghostbur tried to whisper from the other side of the room, but he was terrible at whispering.

Tommy jumped at the sound of Ghostbur’s voice, flinching away and head snapping towards the ghost. The brief moment of clarity was now gone as he tried to push himself farther away from him.

“Tommy, it’s okay, Ghostbur’s not gonna hurt you,” Ranboo reassured the boy, who turned back to him with another startled jolt. Their eyes locked for a moment, before Tommy’s gaze returned to just over the taller boy’s left shoulder. “No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

Tommy swallowed, and Ranboo could see the fear and distrust on his face. The boy opened his mouth, and a soft rasp came from his throat, one that was clearly meant to be a word but was too incoherent in order to be recognized as one, even with Ranboo’s enhanced hearing.

The blonde took a deep breath and tried again, this time a singular, croaky word becoming barely audible to Ranboo’s ears.

“Lime.”

Lime?

“You want a lime?” Ranboo asked, confusion lacing his tone.

“Hmmm, lime isn’t good,” Ghostbur pondered this, his words not making any sense to the enderman hybrid. “At least he remembers what the colors mean though!”

“I’m very confused.”

“I’ll tell you later,” Ghostbur waved dismissively at the thought. “Do you want to try giving him some food? I tried, but he didn’t want me getting too close.”

“Uh, yes,” Ranboo side stepped into the room, slow as to not spook Tommy too much. There was a bowl full of what looked like broth and rice and shredded chicken sitting on a dresser nearby to the door.

Ranboo had plenty of experience taking care of animals, his multitude of pets being evidence of that. Tommy wasn’t an animal, of course, but maybe treating him as if he was an injured, spooked cat was better than potentially startling the boy and making him refuse even his company.

So, Ranboo kept his hands visible at all times, and he approached slowly and cautiously, holding the bowl carefully as to not spill.

Tommy eyed him distrustfully, but didn’t lash out to stop him at all, or try to shy away from him. So he kept inching forward, before slowly lowering himself into a sitting position on the ground in front of the bed Tommy was on.

Tommy’s gaze flickered from the bowl to his face, then back to the bowl, and back to Ranboo’s face. Ranboo tried his best to keep his expression neutral and non-threatening, forcing his shoulders to stay relaxed.

He was not prepared for Tommy to suddenly move.

When Ranboo saw the boy lunge, he fully prepared himself to be attacked, tensing but not resisting, just in case resisting made Tommy’s lash out further.

Instead, he felt the bowl swiftly leave his hands, being plucked from Ranboo’s grasp by Tommy, who scooted back against the wall where he had been before. The edge of the bowl was tipped against Tommy’s mouth, and the boy was downing the contents greedily.

A rush of relief went through Ranboo, and a relieved smile broke his face.

When Tommy was finished, it seemed a portion of what had been in the bowl was now dripping down his chin, but the boy wiped his face and lowered the bowl into his lap.

“Good,” Ranboo said, unsure of what else he was supposed to say. “Are you... are you thirsty? Do you want some water?”

Tommy once again locked eyes with the enderman hybrid, before breaking eye contact to stare over Ranboo’s shoulder. It was definitely not heartwarming to know that even in a state where Tommy was the one who clearly needed help, he was trying to be considerate based off of what he remember, it definitely wasn’t.

The boy nodded, the motion jerky and unstable.

“I’m going to have Ghostbur bring me the water, but I’ll be the one giving it to you. Is that okay?”

Another shaky nod.

Ranboo glanced over at the ghost, who was slowly floating over with a water bottle in hand. The enderman hybrid reached for it, and Ghostbur passed it over with a quiet hum before retreating back into his corner.

Ranboo turned back towards Tommy, who was looking at the water bottle that was now clutched in his hands. Ranboo held out the bottle towards the boy, his grip on it loose. He wasn’t sure if Tommy was going to take it with as much vigor as he had the food.

Sure enough, the blonde hesitantly reached forward a violently trembling hand until it closed around the bottle, yanking it back so fiercely that if Ranboo had been holding on any tighter, he would’ve been sent face first into the frame of Tommy’s bed.

Tommy gulped down the contents of the water quickly, before placing the empty bottle in the bowl he had eaten from. Ranboo noticed the sporadic tremors that accompanied the shivering running along Tommy’s body, almost uncontrollably, and the blonde didn’t seem to notice them either.

Hm.

“That’s good,” Ranboo said, hearing the awkwardness in his own voice but unsure of what else he was supposed to say.

Tommy’s gaze flicked to behind Ranboo, and Ranboo turned to find Tubbo peeking in through the doorway with a concerned expression. “Give him this,” the brunette whispered, holding out a pinkish colored potion.

Ranboo glanced back Tommy, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Tubbo. He looked panicked again, gone was the semi-calmness that he seemed to have with Ranboo.

The enderman hybrid slowly stood up, once again keeping his hands visible. Tommy didn’t even seem to notice, lost in some kind of fearful trance or something. Ranboo was able to walk over to Tubbo, grab the potion, and plop back down in front of Tommy’s bed without the boy even looking at him, much less getting spooked.

“Tommy?” Ranboo asked, voice quiet in an effort to catch the blonde’s attention but not startle him.

Tommy blinked, turning his head towards Ranboo once more. The fear faded from his face and turned to confusion, as if he wasn’t sure where he was.

“I got something that’ll make you feel better,” Ranboo uncorked the potion, which he could now identify as regeneration and held it up.

Tommy stared at the potion in Ranboo’s hand for a few moments, unmoving, before he reached forward and unsteadily took the bottle, hands trembling so hard that it looked like he was about to drop it.

Ranboo watched carefully as Tommy lifted the potion up to drink, before recoiling, eyes snapping open wide as he practically threw the bottle away from him.

The glass hit the wall and shattered, staining the wood a soft pinkish color. The stench of the potion filled the room, smelling of sour candy, but since this wasn’t a splash potion, it had no affect on anyone inside. Ranboo flinched at the noise and wrinkled his nose at the smell, ears twitching, but turned towards Tommy to make sure he was alright.

The blonde had once more curled in on himself for protection, knees brought up to his chest and arms clutching onto his legs like a lifeline. He was hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut.

Ranboo stood up, reaching a hand gently forward and lightly placing it on top of his shoulder, a soft enderman-like trill coming from his throat to offer some comfort.

Tommy screamed bloody murder, as if Ranboo’s touch burned him. The taller boy immediately removed his hand, and the screaming ceased, dissolving into whimpers.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ranboo swallowed, unsure of what to do. “It’s okay, Tommy. You’re safe.”

He turned back to the doorway, looking hopelessly at Tubbo, who still stood there with tears in his eyes. Ghostbur also looked on with wide eyes in his corner, seeming unsure.

“Lime,” Tommy croaked, before shuddering and shaking his head frantically. “Purple.”

Ranboo glanced between the blonde and Ghostbur, not understanding what that meant. Ghostbur seemed to, though, based on the way his shoulders slumped.

“We...” Ghostbur sighed. “We should leave him be. For now, at least.”

Something flickered in the ghost’s eyes, something distinctly like... anger. It was gone almost immediately after Ranboo noticed it, replaced with something unreadable.

Ranboo nodded, slowly, and glanced back at the shivering Tommy before quietly leaving the room. Ghostbur followed just behind him, and he closed the door once they were out.

Phil and Tubbo were still out in the hallway, hovering worriedly by the door.

“I scared him, I’m sorry,” Ranboo sighed, his gaze flicking to the ground.

“It was the potion that freaked him out, not you,” Ghostbur reassured him. “You didn’t know he’d react like that when you touched him, it’s not your fault.”

“Ghostbur’s right, it isn’t your fault,” Phil agreed, while Tubbo remained silent, eyes trained on the now closed door that Tommy was still behind. “At least you got him to eat and drink, which is much better than any of us were able to do.”

“Thank you,” Tubbo mumbled. “For helping.”

“Of course. I’m happy to.”

Ranboo just hoped that Tommy healed enough that he didn’t have to help. Seeing the once bright, loud boy who had much more compassion than he let on now screaming at the slightest touch was heartbreaking.

What had Dream done?

One thing was for sure, Ranboo was going to ensure that Dream rotted in that damn cell.


	2. Ghostbur

Ghostbur was worried for Tommy.

Worry was not an emotion he particularly liked, but to be fair, he didn’t like a lot of emotions that he’d been feeling lately. Like anger, and guilt, and of course, sadness.

He was okay with feeling them, though. Because Tommy needed him, and his anger and guilt was justified. At least, Alivebur said it was.

_“It is justified,”_ Alivebur sighed from where he floated next to Ghostbur, visible only to him. _“And stop calling me that.”_

“Do you think he’ll like this?” Ghostbur asked, changing the subject to the wooden board and the small bag that the both of them were looking at. They were currently in their sewers, and Ghostbur was kind of ashamed to admit he was stalling in going to see Tommy.

_“I mean, I think it’ll help,”_ Alivebur shrugged. _“As for how much he’ll like it, I have no idea. I haven’t exactly been around long enough to gauge his mental state.”_

That was true. Alivebur had shown up shortly after they found Tommy in Logstedshire. Ghostbur had stared at his little brother as Techno carried his unconscious body into Phil’s house, and felt sudden anger flood through him that he knew was not his own. That was how Alivebur had shown up, not pleasantly at all, but Ghostbur had grown used to this other half of Wilbur that only he could see in the week and half it has been since then.

Alivebur had been absolutely frothing with rage at the sight of Tommy. Weak, emaciated, scarred, and broken. Ghostbur had spent ages wrestling with the spirit, trying to get him to calm down. Alivebur only came to his senses once Ghostbur pointed out that if he showed himself to go murder Dream in prison, than the both of them could be punished for blowing up L’manburg.

Alivebur still swore to torture Dream slowly one day, because death was too kind of a punishment.

Ghostbur was not ashamed to admit that he wouldn’t stop Alivebur from doing that. Protectiveness over loved ones and a thirst for retribution by any means necessary were traits both of the halves of Wilbur seemed to share.

But Tommy’s health came first. Once their little brother was healed, at least partially, then they could go and drag Dream through hell and back for laying a single finger on him.

Ghostbur did not care for that man. He’d let Alivebur do whatever he pleased, so long as he got to watch it happen.

Was a willingness to witness a man get tortured for the sake of a revenge considered sadistic? Ghostbur didn’t know. Alivebur didn’t either. Neither of them particularly cared.

Ghostbur reached out and gently ran his fingers over the board. He’d spent a long time on these gifts, sanding down the board so that way Tommy couldn’t get splinters, and writing each person’s name in carefully below a sectioned off square. It was made of birch, so that way the dye would come through as bright as possible.

The markers that lay inside the bag had taken a considerable amount of time to make as well, but he’d done it. Finding each color, absolutely small fabric tips in dye, making solid wood handles and caps that were the same color as the dye inside each individual marker to ensure they didn’t dry out. Paints would have been theoretically easier for this, but neither Ghostbur nor Alivebur knew how to make paint, so markers it was.

It was a good thing he didn’t need sleep, otherwise these gifts would have taken a lot longer than they had.

“I should bring them to him today,” Ghostbur announced, mostly to himself, but also to Alivebur. His finger traced his own name on the board once more before he picked up the wood and tucked it under one arm, grabbing the bag of markers with his other hand.

_“How did he start using color theory again?”_ Alivebur asked curiously as the both of them left the sewers, floating towards Phil’s house. _“Did you guys influence him towards it or did he start using it on his own?”_

“He started using it on his own, I think,” Ghostbur told him. “I asked Ranboo to ask what color Tommy was feeling the first time he woke up, trying to get him to use it, but he didn’t ask. Tommy started saying colors later, in response to what we were telling him. Don’t you remember? You were there, you took over for a little while.”

_“I was too focused on the fact that Dream hurt him and I was fantasizing on all the ways I’d torture him, so no, not at first,”_ Alivebur said dryly. _“I just couldn’t remember if we told him to use it or if he started using it on his own.”_

“He was using it on his own.”

_“He remembered color theory without us prompting him. That’s a good sign.”_

Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t reply as he entered Phil’s house with a grin. He found Phil and Techno downstairs, staring at some kind of map and whispering to each other. They glanced at him as he entered, but didn’t say anything about the items Ghostbur had as he floated towards the stairs.

Alivebur glanced towards the both of them sadly, but followed just a step behind Ghostbur as he made his way up the stairs.

Once he got to the door, he pushed it open slowly before peaking his head in the doorway with a smile.

Tommy was sat on his bed, fiddling with a small bee plush that Tubbo had given him to jog his memory about when they were kids. Phil was trying to find the cow plush that Tommy used to have, but with no luck so far, as far as Ghostbur knew.

“Hey Tommy!” Ghostbur said cheerfully, making the teen startle and look up with wide eyes. “I have a surprise for you. Can I come in?”

The boy’s gray eyes looked uncertain for a few moments, before he shrugged and nodded, shifting backwards on the bed until his back hit the bed frame. Ghostbur edged his way inside, careful not to hit the board on the doorframe or walls.

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the board, eyes lighting up with curiosity, but still seeming guarded. He pointed at the end of the bed, which Ghostbur sat down on, beaming at his little brother.

“You’re Wilbur,” the teen’s voice was hoarse still, unchanged from how it had been since Ghostbur had seen him last. “I think.”

“I am!” Ghostbur agreed, not bothering to correct him. Alivebur was smiling too, but Tommy couldn’t see that. Alivebur had sat down on the floor by Tommy’s bed, staring at the boy fondly with guilt in his eyes. “Do you mind if I lay the board out on top of your legs?”

Tommy shook his head, and Ghostbur turned the board carefully around, moving slowly as to not spook the boy, until it was right side up.

“Me and Alivebur had this idea,” Ghostbur rested one hand on top of the board while the other grabbed the bag and opened it, revealing the markers. “That you could color in everyone’s names, so we know who can come visit you and who should stay away. They’re markers! One for every color. And see, we have Niki, Phil, Me, Techno, Tubbo, Ranboo, Fundy, Big Q, Sam, Eret, everyone!”

“Who’s Alivebur?” Tommy rasped.

“Wilbur,” Ghostbur told him. “Me and Alivebur are both Wilbur!”

“That... doesn’t make sense.... lime...”

“It is quite confusing. Would you rather me tell you now or do you want to talk about something else?”

Tommy didn’t respond, staring at the board blankly, before reaching for the bag of markers. Ghostbur took the hint and passed the bag over, assuming that the teen didn’t want to talk right now. That was fine.

Ghostbur watched as Tommy read the first name on the board. It was an easy one, Tubbo.

Tommy reached into the bag, rummaging through the markers inside and seeming to enjoy listening to them clank together. He eventually withdrew a green marker, along with blue, and purple.

The square above Tubbo’s name was colored in by Tommy predominantly green, with blue and purple spots mixed in with the color.

Tommy moved on to the next name, Phil’s.

This is how it went for a while, Tommy moving down the board and withdrawing various markers to fill in the squares above various people’s names with color.

As Tommy neared the end, Ghostbur could hear Alivebur muttering the colors that he’d filled in as if trying to commit them to memory.

_“Tubbo: Green, blue, purple. Phil: 50/50 lime and purple. Wilbur: Green, blue, purple. Techno: 90% purple with some pink and red, probably shouldn’t let him near anytime soon. Ranboo: sky, blue, little bit of purple and lime. Niki: mostly sky, with green, purple, lime, and blue. Fundy: green and purple. Quackity: blue and purple and lime. Sam: lime and purple. Eret: lime, red, and purple. Most everyone else is lime. Sapnap, George, and Punz have purple... probably because of the first war... there’s a lot of purple in Bad’s square. What happened there?”_

Tommy had finally gotten to Dream’s name.

_“Why did you put him on there?”_

Ghostbur didn’t know.

Tommy was noticeably hesitating, eyebrows furrowed as if he was deep in thought. Neither Ghostbur nor Alivebur knew what was going through the teen’s head as he stared at Dream’s name for several minutes, unmoving.

“You don’t have to—” Ghostbur started, but fell silent as Tommy’s hand started rifling through the bag once more.

The teen pulled out a sky marker, uncapping it and scribbling it in the square over Dream’s name, before he spasmed slightly, dropping the marker and reaching for another. This time he used green, marking over the sky, before dropping that one too. He grabbed lime, scribbling over the first two colors with a more panicked vigor, before dropping the third marker in a row and grabbing another.

This repeated over and over, Tommy growing increasingly frantic as he went through the markers. Red, magenta, purple. At this point, the square above Dream’s name is filled with so many colors overlapping each other that neither Ghostbur nor Alivebur could identify what Tommy was trying to put there.

Tommy dropped the final marker and gripped the edges of the board tightly with his eyes screwed shut, whimpers falling from his lips. There were tears running down his cheeksand his body was trembling again.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Ghostbur was slightly alarmed to find he wasn’t the one talking, and that he was now sitting on the floor beside Tommy’s bed instead of at the end.

Alivebur had taken his place as the visible one, still dressed in the yellow sweater. The only difference between them was there was a beanie now adorning Alivebur’s head.

“It’s okay,” Alivebur soothed, reaching forward and brushing a cool hand against Tommy’s cheek. The teen flinched, but leaned into the touch almost immediately afterward. His eyes didn’t open, but he didn’t lash out. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Toms.”

Alivebur moved to go pull the boy into a hug, but was stopped when Tommy’s hands came up and grabbed his shoulders, keeping him at an arms length, without looking up.

“Brown,” Tommy rasped as a spasm went through his arms, forcing him to let go.

Ghostbur saw Alivebur wilt a little at that. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Alivebur asked, just barely audible but still retaining a comforting tone.

Tommy hesitated, shivering slightly before dipping his head in a slight nod.

Ghostbur blinked, and suddenly he was the one sitting on the bed again, with Alivebur on the ground. He withdrew his hand from Tommy’s shoulder and wiggled his fingers slightly, trying to get used to the fact he was the visible one once more.

He picked the board off of Tommy’s lap and scooted off the bed. He leaned the board up against the wall, before bending down to pick up the markers and put them back in the bag.

The three of them were silent during this, uncomfortable, yet calming.

Ghostbur laid the bag of markers on Tommy’s nightstand, turning towards the teen and smiling softly.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promised. “Maybe I’ll be able to fit Friend through the door, and you can see them. You’ll love Friend.”

Tommy didn’t respond, his hands having found the bee plush again, despite staring dully at the wall.

Ghostbur left the room without another word, Alivebur following just a step after him. He shut the door behind them both, sighing.

“What did you mean about you and Alivebur coming up with that idea?”

Ghostbur startled, turning around quickly as if he was a child caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

Phil stood by the stairs, wearing his stern, fatherly face that Ghostbur remembered from when he was a kid. It never led to anything good, especially when it was directed towards him.

Ghostbur swallowed nervously and glanced at Alivebur, who was staring at Phil like he had seen a ghost. He was wearing the same “guilty child” face that Ghostbur was surely was wearing too.

“I have no idea what you mean!” Ghostbur announced, breaking out into a panicked smile and breaking eye contact. He halfway turned, preparing to phase through the wall if he had to, because he did not want to be in this situation at all. “Anyway, I uh, think I here Fundy calling me so I better go—”

“Ghostbur.”

He froze and grimaced, glancing guiltily at his father once more.

“Alivebur... showed up,” Ghostbur admitted reluctantly, trying to choose his words carefully. “Only recently though. We’ve been working through some things together.”

Phil audibly sucked in a breath, looking as if he was trying very hard not to cry. “Can— can I talk to him?”

Ghostbur glanced at Alivebur, who sighed guiltily and didn’t meet his gaze. _“I don’t think I’m ready for that,”_ Alivebur admitted. _“Soon, though. Tell him I promise.”_

“He says he’s not ready,” Ghostbur told Phil, watching as his father deflated slightly. “But soon, he promises.”

Phil nodded, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry.”

_“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”_

“He says don’t apologize.”

_“You only did what I asked you too. I’m sorry for making you do that. It was stupid and selfish and— just tell him I’m sorry. That I’ll try and talk to him soon.”_

“He says that he’s sorry for making you kill him, and that he’ll try to talk to you sooner rather than later, when he’s ready.”

Phil nodded again, and Ghostbur quickly sped away, back to his sewers where no one could bother him.

_“How about we go pay Dream a visit?”_

“You read my mind.”


	3. Phil

Phil hummed slightly as he cracked a few eggs into a pan over the stove.

Tommy had been doing better lately about eating. He could keep down two full bowls of broth, chicken, and rice now, more than two weeks after they had gone to rescue him. Phil was relieved, because that was a much better improvement than just half a bowl in one day.

He was trying something new, trying to give Tommy something other than just soup. So, scrambled eggs it was. Techno had made mashed potatoes last night as well, a portion of which were warming up on a pot on the stove next to Phil. They wouldn’t taste the best, as he was worried about seasoning them too much and upsetting Tommy’s stomach, but the important thing was making sure the teen could handle it.

Tommy had been making progress mentally as well, at least, Phil hoped/assumed so. He was still cautious, and didn’t let anyone touch him for the most part. But they had finally been able to coax him into taking a bath on one of his better days (where he had been lime the whole day, even during the bath when Phil checked in through the door, and was brown afterwards).

The layer of dirt, blood, and ash that had caked on the boy’s skin was finally gone, revealing him to be much paler than they thought he was. But they got him new clothes, changed his sheets, and overall Tommy seemed more relaxed afterwards.

His hair still needed to be brushed. The blonde locks were full of tangles, and it was practically matted together into one big knot. Phil consistently wondered if cutting it all off would be more kind than to put Tommy through the pain of trying to brush through it.

The old Tommy would have protested vehemently to Phil cutting his hair in that way, and would have stubbornly forced comb after comb through the blonde strands, replacing the ones that would inevitably snap on the way through.

But this was not the old Tommy.

This was a Tommy that’s hands shook uncontrollably, who’s body still spasmed for no apparent reason. Who stared at everyone with wide, fearful eyes and barely spoke, only responding to questions with “yes”, “no”, or a color and only sometimes responding to regular conversation at all.

A Tommy who Phil had _failed_ by leaving him with that bastard for _months_.

Phil still couldn’t help but think there was still more he didn’t know about what had happened to his son out on that cold, desolate beach.

The scrambled eggs were burning.

Phil quickly pulled them out of the pan, wincing at the slightly blackened areas. He couldn’t even do more than add some light salt to fix it, in fear of Tommy not being able to keep it down.

He removed the mashed potatoes off the stove and and slid both the potatoes and the eggs onto a plate. He also poured a glass of water before heading up the stairs, towards Tommy’s room.

He knocked on the door softly. “Hey Tommy, it’s me, Phil. Can I come in? I’ve got breakfast.”

A few seconds passed without an answer, but Phil was patient. Tommy’s voice was weak in the mornings, he had discovered. It took the teen a minute to get it working properly after he woke up, and it was still very creaky and quiet.

“Yes,” a raspy voice said from the other side of the door.

Phil took a deep breath and pushed the door open with his foot, peeking inside with a smile.

Tommy looked like he just woke up, blinking sleep from his eyes. There was something slightly off about him, more so than usual, but he was sitting up straight and seemed mostly fine, so Phil ignored it.

“Color check?” Phil asked, sitting down in the chair they had pulled up from downstairs and put in Tommy’s room, passing the teen the plate, fork, and glass of water.

“Gray,” Tommy mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his arm before picking up the fork. He stared at the plate for a moment, before putting the fork back down. “Not hungry.”

Phil felt his heart drop for a moment as he registered what gray meant, _lonely_ , but managed to keep his voice gentle and hiding his worry. “I can get you some broth instead, if you don’t feel up to eating. I know I burned the eggs a bit, I’m sorry.”

“Not hungry,” Tommy repeated, handing him back the plate and looking away.

Phil took it, setting it on Tommy’s nightstand next to the bag of markers Ghostbur had given him. He wasn’t sure what to do here. Should he force Tommy to eat? That seemed counterproductive, because who knew how he’d react to that? But Tommy needed to eat, that wasn’t a question...

“I have an idea,” Phil offered quietly. Tommy didn’t turn to look at him, just staring at the wall. “You said you were feeling gray today. Why don’t you come walk with me around L’manburg? Get your muscles moving. It might give you an appetite, and might jog your memory a bit more. How does that sound?”

Tommy shrugged, and Phil bit his lip to hold back a grin. That was progress, at least, he hoped it was.

“I’ll get you some shoes,” he offered, standing up. “If you want to change, there’s some clothes in the dresser for you.”

He didn’t get a response, but left anyway. Once he was outside of the room, a grin passed over his face. Getting Tommy moving should help a bit, right? Let him see L’manburg and remember it on his own instead of force feeding him memories.

Phil grabbed a pair of Techno’s old leather boots. The laces were slightly frayed and the leather was worn, but they should fit Tommy, and that’s what counted. They were the same height, so their shoe size ought to be similar, right?

He didn’t have any others, because he knew for a fact that his shoes were too small for Tommy. So these would have to work.

He went back up into the room, knocking first and announcing himself before entering.

Tommy had gotten out of bed and was standing unsteadily, visibly putting most of his weight onto one leg. He hadn’t changed, but that was fine. The teen’s gray eyes blinked at Phil as he entered.

Phil held up the boots. “Let’s get these on you, mate.”

Tommy shrugged, plopping himself down on the bed once more and letting Phil pass him the boots. The older man didn’t miss how the teen’s hands shook as he took them, or how he was having trouble bending one of his legs to get the boot on properly.

After several moments of Tommy struggling, with gritted teeth and a frustrated look in his eye, Phil knelt down on the floor, making the teen stiffen.

He made eye contact with Tommy, who’s eyes had gone wide, before breaking away to gingerly reach for the boot.

The teen let go of it, and Phil picked it up off the floor when it fell. He glanced up once more, for a second, before resting a hand on Tommy’s leg. The boy didn’t outwardly react, other than digging his hands into the mattress so hard that his knuckles went white.

Phil knew that if Tommy had a problem, he’d kick him away. So he continued.

He slipped the boot on his son’s foot and tied the laces properly, before turning and tying the other boot’s laces as well. Phil stood up slowly afterwards, holding up his hands in surrender and backing away to give him space.

Tommy stared at him for a moment, before pushing himself to his feet, wobbling unsteadily and still favoring one of his legs.

“Do you want help?” Phil asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice. Tommy was still thin enough for a strong wind to blow him over, and his balance being as bad as it was wouldn’t help at all.

Tommy shook his head, limping on shaking legs as he followed Phil out of the room. Going downstairs took a while, with Tommy clutching the handrail for dear life as he made his way down. Every time Phil offered help he was quickly shot down, so he could only watch and not assist his youngest.

Tommy walked with a prominent limp, wincing every time he had to put weight on his left leg. Phil hadn’t been able to examine any of the teen’s injuries when he arrived or since then, but he had to imagine that his leg had been broken at some point and had healed the wrong way.

That meant eventually, they would have to rebreak it and let it heal correctly. But Tommy definitely wouldn’t be able to handle that right now mentally, so it would have to be something they got to later.

“Let’s go see the bee farm first,” Phil suggested, pushing open the front door and stepping outside. “Tubbo built it while you were away, so I think it’ll be an easy start.”

Tommy stepped out the door and squinted at the brightness, blinking rapidly before relaxing. The teen looked around for a moment, still standing on Phil’s porch, before following Phil down and onto the wooden boardwalks that had been built over the crater Wilbur blew into the country.

“Tubbo was really proud of the bee farm,” Phil said, trying to fill the silence as he heard rather than saw Tommy start to follow him. “He spent quite a long time with it. Bees are his favorite, do you remember?”

A soft hum of acknowledgement sounded from behind him. Phil, glad that Tommy was responding even a little bit, meaning he wasn’t too overwhelmed, kept talking to try to provide a sense of normalcy as they walked.

“He hasn’t really been over there to take care of them in a while, so we can maybe get some honey while we’re there? Though I rather not get stung. I might leave the harvesting honey bit to Tubbo, he has a bit of a knack for getting it from the hive without angering them.”

Phil was so caught up in the conversation, despite being one sided, that he missed when Tommy stopped following him. He kept going, back turned to his son as he walked.

“I have no idea where he got that particular skill from. The two of you were attached at the hip growing up and you were always running home crying because of a bee sting when you were little, while he never got stung once. He always cheered you up when that happened, though. You both were so close.”

“PHIL!”

Someone nearby shouted his name, and Phil whipped around, trying to find out who had done so. Before he could, however, he realized that Tommy was gone.

That’s when his mind registered the splash of someone hitting the water.

Phil froze for a second, meeting Ranboo’s wide eyes from across the crater. He was the one who shouted, presumably.

He forced his limbs to move, running over to the edge of the platform and peering over with wide eyes. There was no sign of Tommy, but the water had clearly been disturbed recently.

“Get help!” Phil shouted to Ranboo, knowing that the enderman hybrid couldn’t jump in the water without losing one of his lives. He scrambled over the fence and dropped into the water, forcing his wings to remain pressed against his back as he fell instead instinctively opening as they usually did.

The water was freezing cold, startling Phil and making him subconsciously want to gasp. He forced his eyes open and scanned the water around him desperately, searching for a mop of blonde hair, boots, a red shirt, anything that would help him find Tommy.

After several panicked seconds, he finally spotted something. Tommy’s blonde hair was bright in the semi-dark, murky water.

Phil swam towards him, releasing air as needed in order to sink further down to reach the boy. One of his hands latched onto the back of Tommy’s shirt, the other grabbing his son’s arm.

Tommy’s eyes snapped open, and a muffled wail tore through the water as the teen jerked away, trying to break Phil’s grip. Phil held on fast, accidentally releasingTommy’s shirt but still managing to keep ahold of his arm.

Tommy thrashed, something wild and animalistic in his movements as he screeched, air leaving his mouth in streams of bubbles. There wasn’t a way for Phil to reassure him, to calm him down, because they needed to get to the surface NOW.

A well-aimed kick in the stomach from Tommy caused Phil to cough, bubbles escaping his mouth and shocking him. It seemed even in a panicked state, he knew to lash out where it hurt.

Phil only clung tighter now, yanking the boy upwards and kicking his feet in an effort to reach the surface. How deep was this water? It hadn’t looked that deep when he first jumped in, but they were a good eight feet down at least.

Tommy was still struggling, fighting Phil every step of the way even as his movements grew slower.

Phil was growing desperate. His own lungs were burning at this point and his heart only raced faster, panic overtaking him because they were going to drown down here if Tommy didn’t cooperate. His wings were weighing them both down, the down and feathers completely soaked through and becoming two deadweights on his back.

Almost on cue, Phil felt the water shake as something shot past him, towards Tommy, in a whirl of bubbles and light blue magic. Phil got a glimpse of something pink, a white shirt, and a trident through the bubbles.

Techno managed to get behind Tommy, wrapping an arm around the boy’s chest and pulling him against him. Tommy screamed again, thrashing and managing to get a well-placed elbow to Techno’s jaw, but the pink haired man didn’t even flinch, just readjusting his grip to pin one of Tommy’s arms to his side.

Tommy immediately froze, a haze going over his stormy gray eyes.

Phil didn’t have enough time to worry about that, as Techno yanked him forward and forcing Phil to wrap an arm around him. Mere moments after Phil had grabbed onto his oldest son, he felt the rush of magic and was suddenly out of the water and in the air.

His wings flared out instinctively, beating down hard, but they were waterlogged. They would normally be barely able to keep him up in the air like this, much less two other people as well.

So he did the next best thing. He wrapped his wings around Techno and Tommy and braced for impact.

Not a moment too soon, it seemed. Just a second or so after he got his wings around his sons, his back slammed into wooden planks with a jolt that sent pain down his spine and through his feathers.

Phil coughed, gingerly releasing Tommy and Techno, letting his wings flop soggily onto the wooden boardwalk. He took a deep breath, thankful to be out of that goddamn water.

“Tommy, what the fuck was that?” Techno demanded, his voice full of concern rather than anger. It made Phil look up, instinctively looking for Tommy as panic flooded through his chest when he realized the teen wasn’t nearby anymore.

Tommy was curled into himself by the edge of the boardwalk, his back pressed up against the fence. He had a glazed, distracted look in his eyes, and was shivering terribly. Phil wasn’t sure if that was from the cold or from fear.

“Let’s get him back to the house and into something warm, mate,” Phil said softly, addressing Techno. “You and me, too. Before the three of us get sick.”

Techno clenched his jaw, but nodded, slinging his trident over his back and getting to his feet. He helped Phil up as well, but Tommy hadn’t moved at all, still trembling.

“Tommy, let’s go back to the house,” Phil said gently. “We gotta get you warmed up and dry, so you don’t catch a cold.”

The teen still didn’t move, his eyes staring past Phil blankly, as if he couldn’t even see him.

Phil had thought Tommy was doing so well. That he was getting better. Today could very well have set them back weeks, pushing Tommy’s mental state back to how it was when they first found him.

This reminded him of how Tommy had been after the prison visit. Where he had been awake but nonresponsive, eyes open but nonverbal. Techno had told Phil, after they had put Tommy in bed, that he probably had some kind of breakdown as a result of Dream’s conditioning.

Phil crouched down, resting a hand gently on Tommy’s shoulder with bated breath.

Tommy normally flinched, or tensed, or at the very least his breathing would pause whenever Phil touched him. But none of those things happened. It was like Tommy wasn’t aware of anything at all.

Just like how he’d been after the visit to Dream.

Phil sighed, bending down further to pick Tommy up and carry him back home like he had Techno do those weeks ago.

“I’ll get him,” Techno stopped him by resting a hand on his back for a brief moment before pulling away. “You almost drowned. Don’t strain yourself, old man.”

In any normal situation, Phil would’ve responded with a light swat on the arm and the two would banter, but this was not a normal situation. He pulled back and allowed Techno to pick up Tommy, who still did not move, not even to tense up at being picked up without his expressed permission.

They went back to the house without another word, Ranboo following anxiously behind them and making slightly distressed enderman-like chirrs.

“I can watch him while you both change,” Ranboo offered, nervousness filling his tone as he stood awkwardly by the front door, only barely inside the house.

Techno set Tommy down on the couch, while Phil nodded tiredly at the enderman hybrid. “That’d be wonderful, thank you. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Phil sped into his room and shut the door behind him, peeling off his soaked clothes and changing into warmer, dry ones. His wings were still uncomfortably heavy and wet, but he didn’t think he had the time to dry them off, so he would have to manage.

He exited his room just as quickly as he entered, finding that Ranboo had somehow started a fire in the fireplace in the few short minutes it had been since Phil left. Techno was still missing, likely trying to change and dry his long hair out properly.

“Thank you,” Phil told Ranboo, who nodded, still making soft, nervous sounds without seeming to realize it.

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo blurted out. “I— I saw him hop the fence, I was frozen. I couldn’t do anything and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay mate,” Phil reassured the boy. “I’m just glad you went to go get Techno so quick. I couldn’t pull him up on my own.”

Ranboo nodded again, ears folded downwards and tail flicking back and forth. “Is he gonna be alright?”

Phil glanced down at Tommy, who was staring with unseeing eyes at the wall.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

“Well, we could try the markers?”

Phil blinked at Ghostbur, who had come to visit a few hours after Tommy’s accident. The ghost had claimed that Alivebur told him Tommy had been in trouble, so he came to make sure everything was alright.

Both Techno and Phil were trying to ignore the red that was staining Ghostbur’s arms, covering up the blue that was normally there. It stained the sleeves of his yellow sweater and his hands and there was some splattered across his cheek as well, but Ghostbur didn’t seem to have noticed.

“The markers?” Techno echoed.

“Me and Alivebur made markers and a board for Tommy to tell us how he feels about each person, so we know who’s okay to visit him,” Ghostbur said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “If Tommy’s not talking, maybe he can tell us how he feels by picking a marker! I’ll go get them.”

With that, Ghostbur sped off, up the stairs.

Phil had been aware of the markers and the board, but he didn’t think to use them as a substitute for Tommy’s “color checks”. They had just been a simple thing Ghostbur had made, it hadn’t crossed his mind to use them this way.

Tommy still hadn’t moved from the couch, staring at the same spot on the wall. The only thing that had changed was his clothes, since he hadn’t fought Phil about being touched and since he needed to get into something warm to prevent the teen from getting sick.

It had taken a lot longer than Phil thought it would to change him.

Tommy being unresponsive and limp the whole time was one of the reasons for that, but the other reason took place after Phil peeled off the soaked, cold clothes.

It was the scars.

Phil had been aware of the line that had taken residence across Tommy’s throat, having seen it after the bath when Tommy removed the bandages and didn’t replace them (though they had given him new ones in case he wanted to). He hadn’t been prepared for the others.

There were two ugly burn scars across Tommy’s torso, one on the boy’s collarbone and spreading to his shoulder and one spanning his ribs. There was a line through his stomach as well, with a matching one across his back that signified he’d been stabbed right through like a piece of meat. There was a small star-like scar in his chest, over his heart, and the thick line of an axe blade scar between his shoulder blades. There was also a spiderweb of wither scars spanning his back, disappearing into his hair and crawling down the backs of his arms, as well as two more burn scars on the top of either thigh.

It was awful, and Phil had to steel himself to keep from throwing up. Techno had stormed out soon after seeing all of them. To do what, Phil had no idea. He’d come back after an hour, though.

Ghostbur floated back downstairs and went straight for Tommy, clutching the bag of markers with a grin on his face (Phil realized, with a shiver up his spine, that there was red staining his _teeth_ too. What had Ghostbur been _doing_?)

“Hey Tommy,” Ghostbur asked, slipping into a more calm, reassuring tone that sounded so much like _Wilbur_ Phil felt like he was going to cry. “I don’t know if you can hear me, and if you can’t, that’s okay. Can you pick a marker for me?”

Tommy didn’t respond, staring straight through Ghostbur as if he wasn’t even there.

“You don’t have to say anything, just pick a marker,” Ghostbur said soothingly, dipping more into a Wilbur-like voice that was less echoey and high pitched. The ghost pressed the bag of markers into Tommy’s hands, opening the bag enough for the markers to be visible inside.

Tommy shivered slightly, hands tightening on the bag. The markers inside shifted, and the teen’s face scrunched up at the noise.

Then, ever so slowly, his head tilted downwards to the bag of markers in his lap, eyes clearing their fog just a little bit. A trembling hand found it’s way into the bag, and withdrew a single marker with a gray cap.

A dark gray cap.

Was there a difference? Phil couldn’t remember. It’d been many years since he’d had to use color theory (back when Techno was young and was occasionally nonverbal, they used color theory, but that was a long time ago).

Ghostbur seemed to recognize a difference, because the ghost visibly stiffened, the reassuring look on his face melting away into something different, like concern, and horror.

It disappeared, replacing itself with a familiar, soft smile that was perhaps slightly bloody. “That’s good Toms,” Ghostbur said, reaching up and stroking Tommy’s hair softly. The boy jerked his head away from the touch, but didn’t flinch or stiffen at all. Ghostbur took the hint and withdrew his hand. “Thank you.”

Tommy didn’t respond, clutching the dark gray marker like a lifeline.

Ghostbur stood up, and his entire being seemed to flicker slightly. Phil saw the shadow of a trench coat and a beanie, before it disappeared, almost too quick for him to notice.

“If he ever picks dark gray again,” Ghostbur whispered. “Don’t leave him alone. Dark gray means “numb”, which is a nicer way to say suicidal. Have him do color checks from the markers from now on.”

Phil nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn’t... he couldn’t think that... Tommy of all people, his youngest, Tommy, was suicidal. But this wasn’t the same Tommy that he knew anymore.

Phil saw the trench coat again, briefly, before it shimmered out of view and Ghostbur was smiling uncertainly.

“I’ll be going now. I was taking care of a few things when I heard the news, so I should be getting back to it,” the ghost announced, before promptly speeding away before Phil could stop him.

Techno shuffled awkwardly in the background. “I should go check on Carl,” the pink haired man mumbled. “And the turtles, and the bees.”

Phil didn’t stop his oldest from leaving either, only becoming aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks once he was gone. He bit down on his sleeve to stop from sobbing outright, and probably spooking Tommy.

How was he supposed to deal with this? He couldn’t lose another son. He couldn’t make Techno lose his brothers. _He couldn’t do this._

~~He missed Tommy’s hand finding the green marker and clutching it tightly, the dark gray marker falling on the couch cushions, forgotten.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is longer than the other two chapters COMBINED so I hope you like it i’m going to bed after posting this goodnight have fun i have two tests tomorrow that i wrote this instead of studying for haha -R


	4. Niki

Niki wasn’t sure how she felt about Tommy. 

There was a time in her life where she only wanted to protect him and Tubbo, two teenage boys caught up in a war that they didn’t ask for. Two teenage boys on their last lives when people like Dream and Technoblade still had all three. Two teenage boys who had been scarred beyond belief, betrayed over and over again by those they trusted, who had much more trauma then they let on.

But she knew the truth now.

Tommy may not have asked for war, but he perpetrated it. He was the one to start the conflicts that led to their wars, where people lost their homes and their lives.

When she heard of Tubbo exiling him, she was _relieved_.

Because finally, finally the one who had been nothing but trouble was _gone_ , and they could live their lives in _peace_.

And those weeks with Tommy gone were the calmest they’d had in a long time, not since before the elections. Those short weeks hadn’t lasted long enough, in Niki’s opinions.

~~Though she had missed the sound of the young blonde’s laughter. She had longed to see Tubbo smile again. New L’manburg was just so _quiet_ with Tommy gone. It felt so, so wrong.~~

She had been to the meeting that Punz had called one particular day. Almost everyone joined, save for a few (Dream and George being the most notable). Hell, even Philza and Technoblade had come to the meeting, making the room full of tension and full of uncomfortable silences.

Punz had explained what Dream told him, that Tommy was in danger of being locked up in Sam’s new prison. He had said how the way Dream was acting made Punz worried, because he was speaking as if Tommy was just an item, a prize to be won or a valuable to keep hidden away from prying eyes.

Niki didn’t go with the group to go confront Dream, nor did she go with the group to go fetch Tommy from exile. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had been absolutely seething at the fact that after only a few weeks of peace, the instigator of all of their problems was coming back.

They had come back later than she thought they would, and seemingly without said instigator.

She was ready to celebrate, in all honesty, before Sam pulled her aside and asked her to come and wait at the prison entrance with him. He had explained that Tommy refused to go through the nether, so Philza, Ranboo, and Tubbo were accompanying him across the ocean.

Why the prison? Tommy had been insistent on seeing Dream. It was the only way they could convince him to come back at all. Apparently something had happened during exile, and that Tommy was... different, but Sam wouldn’t tell her how or what had happened.

Her curiosity got the better of her, so she went. Niki stood by the entrance of the prison until she could see them approaching in the distance, and she’d be lying if she didn’t say her blood had gone cold.

Tommy looked almost like a ghost. If not for being completely opaque, Niki would’ve thought he was one. He walked with a horrible limp, that nearly made him fall over with every step. His eyes were dull, practically glazed over, and green. Not blue, green.

Not only that, his hair had grown out longer than it should have in just a few weeks, and was matted together. His clothes were messily made, and he was missing his shoes.

He was also completely and utterly silent, and his gaze was filled with confusion as it passed over each of them. He kept flinching away from Ranboo, Tubbo, and Phil, and his arms occasionally gave spastic jerks.

Something flashed in his eyes when he locked gazes with Niki, something that seemed like recognition, but it faded and was replaced once more by confusion and fear.

Fear.

Niki had forced herself to stay silent, unable to really process that boy that practically looked like a skeleton was _Tommy_.

He’d gone inside walking, Technoblade, Philza, Sam, and Tubbo accompanying him. She had been there when he was carried out by Technoblade, limp, with now-gray eyes open, but unresponsive.

She hadn’t seen him since.

And now she has.

Tommy was sitting on the couch nearby, while everyone else was crowded around Philza’s kitchen table.

When this meeting was first declared, Niki had assumed they would be somewhere more professional, like Eret’s castle or in the center of L’manburg, or even at the Community House.

But no, Philza and Tubbo had been insistent that Tommy was not stable enough to really leave the house yet, and since he needed to be there, they were having the meeting at Philza’s house.

Tommy was sitting on the couch, that had been turned to face the table so he could see what was going on. His hair was still a rat’s nest, but he was wearing clean clothes, and the dirt and blood that had covered him like a second skin was gone, revealing him to be deathly pale. His eyes were still completely gray, but his cheeks had filled in and his arms were less thin, lessening the gaunt, skeletal look he had before.

He had a bag one of his hands, full of wooden things that clattered together when he moved his hand. The noise was slightly annoying, but it seemed to be helping him focus, so no one objected to it. He had what looked like a marker clutched in one fist, with a lime green cap adorning it.

They had waited for one of Tommy’s “good days” in order to have this meeting, apparently. And while most everyone was around this table (where there wasn’t enough chairs for everyone, so half of them were standing up), Ranboo was sat on the couch too, on the opposite end, glancing at Tommy every few minutes. The blonde was mostly staring at his hands as everyone else talked, fiddling with the bag.

“Listen, Sam,” Technobladed said, sounding exasperated the longer this particular argument continued. “You seem like a good guy and all, but how confident are we that the prison can actually contain Dream? Isn’t he the one that provided you the blueprints? And he’s a smart guy. We won’t be able to keep him in there forever.”

“For the last time,” Sam also sounded exasperated, rubbing his temple with two of his fingers like he had a headache. “Pandora’s Vault was specifically built to be _inescapable_ from the inside. The whole point of an impenetrable prison is to keep someone _inside_ of it. Dream may have designed the place, but I’m the one who executed those designs. I have full confidence in the prison being able to hold him indefinitely.”

“I don’t see why he’s in there in the first place,” Quackity interjected, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was quite literally sitting on Sapnap’s lap. “He hurt Tommy, supposedly—”

“There is no _supposedly_ about it,” Tubbo hissed, with a lot more venom in his voice then was typically found.

“He walled up L’manburg and you’re defending him?” Fundy asked Quackity incredulously.

“Because of Tommy burning down George’s house,” Quackity reminded.

“Which was forgiven,” George jumped into the conversation. “Dream took that whole thing way too far.”

“I agree with Quackity here,” Skeppy spoke up from where he was sharing a seat with Bad. “We don’t have any proof that Dream really hurt Tommy during his exile, because no one was _there_.”

“There’s loads of fucking proof!” Philza shouted. “Any person at this table who was there when we went to go fetch him can testify that Dream hurt him during his exile. That’s the _only_ explanation behind his behavior then. Not to mention Techno, Tubbo, Sam, and I all were there when Dream _admitted_ to having beat Tommy until he lost the majorities of his memories, as well as punishing him for various supposed “wrongdoings”.”

Niki sighed, feeling a headache building behind her eyes. This had been going on for what felt like hours. As the new president of L’manburg since Tubbo’s resignation and her appointment, she knew she should be talking more. She was one of the leaders of the factions, and that’s why they were having this meeting with this group of people in the first place.

“I know for a fact that I’d be willing to testify about how Tommy acted, and how it was clearly a sign of past abuse,” Eret offered, crossing their legs and adjusting their sunglasses. “Dream is manipulative and opportunistic. The way Tommy reacted to our presence there, regardless of whether he could remember us or not, demonstrated clear signs of mental conditioning and stockholm syndrome.”

“I’ve seen Tommy’s scars,” Techno added, barely concealed anger quite audible in his words. “Scars that I know for a fact weren’t there before his exile. The only way for him to have gotten them is if they were purposely placed and then healed shortly afterwards.”

The rattling noise had stopped, but no one except Niki seemed to notice.

She turned her head towards Tommy, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

The teen was stiff as a board, hunched in on himself with a glassy look in his eyes. The lime green marker had been replaced by one purple and one blue, clutched so tightly that his knuckles were practically turning white. Tremors were running up his arms, making his hands shake so hard that Niki was slightly concerned that the markers were about to go flying.

She tuned out the argument around her, glancing at Ranboo briefly to find that the enderman hybrid was watching the slowly escalating bickering, and not Tommy.

Fuck. She was really going to do this, wasn’t she?

Niki stood up out of her chair, sending it backwards with a loud scraping noise. The room suddenly fell silent, save for Tommy’s staggered breathing.

She didn’t waste time looking at the others, heading over to the couch and crouching down.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” she murmured, reaching out and cupping Tommy’s cheek, making the boy freeze. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

Tommy didn’t say anything, eyes still slightly glazed over and staring at his lap. The room was quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, but Niki wasn’t focusing on that.

A little voice inside her was berating her for being sympathetic towards the teen, the problem in their lives, the one that had ruined everything.

But that voice went silent as Tommy’s breath hitched, then his eyes closed, and he leaned into Niki’s hand like it was the first human contact he’d gotten in months. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing got more steady, and his grip on those markers loosened. He no longer clutched them with a death grip.

“Let’s go upstairs. I know this must’ve been stressful,” the softness in her own voice startled her, but she didn’t stop it. “Is that alright with you?”

Tommy nodded slightly, eyes fluttering open to lock onto hers. The cloudiness was gone, but the dull gray color felt like a knife to her heart. Tommy’s eyes were supposed to be blue, bright electric blue, blue like the sky on a cloudless day. Not this stormy gray.

Niki helped the boy to his feet, ignoring the gazes of everyone else in the room burning into her. He was still wildly unsteady on his feet, and was practically using her as a crutch from how much of his weight he was leaning on her. But considering he was still horrifyingly light, she didn’t mind.

Going up the stairs was a long process, especially with how badly Tommy was limping. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been when she’d seen him the first time, but it was still pretty bad. But with a level of patience she hadn’t had in a long time, she was able to get him up successfully.

Putting him in bed was not nearly as hard. He seemed exhausted, though he hadn’t spoken. Tommy put his bag on the bedside table, stuffing his markers in there too, before curling up in the fetal position on the bed, trembling.

Niki sighed, running a hand through Tommy’s hair softly before turning to leave, back to the meeting, where she was needed as the new president of L’manburg.

Instead, though, she was stopped by bony fingers latching onto her wrist and holding tightly, desperately.

Niki turned back to Tommy, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The teen hadn’t looked up, head still buried in the arm that hadn’t grabbed onto her. It was clear what he was asking of her, she just wasn’t sure if she should.

The little voice reared up again, hissing about the pain he had caused her and so many others. How he had betrayed her and only sowed the seeds of war in their peaceful nation. How he had deserved whatever abuse Dream had handed to him.

Niki shivered slightly. Had she truly stooped that low? To blame the victim for the abuse they had received? It made her sick.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress sink under her weight. Tommy scooted over until his head was in her lap, the tension melting out of his shoulders as his body uncurled. Niki let her hand rest on top of his head, instinctually scratching lightly at his scalp.

Tommy shuddered, but didn’t push her away or tense up at all, so she kept doing it.

This reminded her of Pogtopia. Taking care of Tubbo after his nightmares, Tommy breaking down right after Tubbo fell back asleep but refusing her care because “Tubbo needed it more”. He was _sixteen_ , they both were, and they had already lost so much.

What had she been thinking?

Tommy was a kid. After everything he’d been through, Tommy was just a kid. And whatever Dream had done to him had clearly _broken_ him, because the old Tommy would never have shown her so much vulnerability. The old Tommy would have left the meeting far before he had broken down, because he was so scared of anyone, even Tubbo, seeing him at his worst.

Niki shivered again and ran her fingers through Tommy's hair. Truly, _what had she been thinking?_ She was blaming a child, a child who would only repeat his mistakes because he was a _child_ and all the adults around him egged him on. She silenced the voice within her head, the voice that sounded suspiciously like a mix of Dream and Wilbur, and she exhaled shakily.

"Go to sleep, Toms," she whispered, wincing slightly at the way he flinched and his dull eyes shot open. "Ssssh, sssh, it's okay. It's just me, Niki."

He glanced around before gesturing to the bag. She frowned but reached over and set it down in front of him. He rummaged through it, swiftly removing a sky-blue marker and clutching it in a death grip. She still hadn't asked what the colors meant _(she made a mental note to do that later)_ but Tommy appeared to be finished with the bag so she moved the bag back to the table.

"It's okay, Toms," she repeated, "it's okay. I'll be here. You can rest."

He watched her for a moment before nodding slightly, allowing his eyes to close. Tommy was nothing like the boisterous wildfire he once was; he was a wounded animal, caged and cornered and he was giving up. He was tired and he has gone through so much that a child at his age shouldn't have gone through. He's been through more within a few months, a little over a year and a half, than Niki will ever go through in her life.

She realizes, a realization that makes her heart _ache_ , that Tommy _trusts_ her.

He trusts her more than his father, his brother, his _best friend_. He trusts her more than the people who genuinely cared for him when they found him, unlike her who wanted him to vanish after Wilbur died. She wonders when did the bright boy that she knew become this quiet boy that seemed to wilt with the very prospect of living.

She exhales shakily again and Tommy twitches. She runs her hand through his hair again, fingers brushing against his scalp comfortingly, and he relaxes. His expression evens out and his chest begins to fall up and down in a steady motion. He's asleep.

Niki allows herself to cry quietly. She doesn't sob _(not like how she did after Tommy and Wilbur were exiled)_ and she doesn't weep _(not like how she did when she discovered Wilbur's death)_. No, she simply cries. She barely makes a sound and it's more internal than external. If anyone looked into the room, they wouldn't even have known that she cried except for the minor droplets on the blankets.

She longs for the days where everything was simpler and nobody was dead. She longs for the days where she could just bake her cakes and wasn't involved in every single issue. She longs for the days where she could care about her boys without her mind trying to turn against her.

She vows, vows again to herself, that she'll protect her boys. Wilbur was gone but Tommy and Tubbo were still here. The _children_ were still here and she'll stay in ways that Wilbur didn't _(couldn't)_.

She'll be Niki again, the baker _(now president)_ of L'manberg. She'll be Niki again, the elder sister that her boys all admired her as. She'll be Niki again, the protector of her boys, the underestimated queen.

Homicide could wait; for now, Niki was content with watching over Tommy as he slept, making sure to hum lullabies whenever he appeared to have a nightmare.

~~And if she quietly stepped out of the room to yell at the others later before coming back to return to her spot next to Tommy, that was nobody's business except hers.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eci wrote the ending, because I was so horribly stuck it’s not even funny. They did a BRILLIANT job and are a miracle worker. -R
> 
> EDIT: Removing the incorrect chapter title. Also, it’s totally not 1:35 AM. Don’t tell R. ~Eci


	5. Techno

Techno woke to a thudding noise.

He’d always been a light sleeper, lighter than Tommy or Phil, and definitely lighter than Wilbur. The room he was staying in was on the ground floor too, and from what it sounded like, the crash sounded from the kitchen.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, grabbing his sword off the ground. The wooden floor was freezing beneath his bare feet, but it didn’t matter much. What mattered was what the hell he had just heard.

There were only four people other than himself currently in the house. Tubbo, who’d moved in after they found Tommy. Ghostbur, who was sometimes here and sometimes not, but had arrived last night to spend the night (covered in a red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. Techno suspected he knew who’s blood that was, but he wasn’t a snitch. Dream deserved it, anyhow). Phil, who lived here because it was _his_ house, and...

Tommy.

Tommy, who was absolutely terrified of him. Tommy, who had jumped into the water that had flooded the crater of L’manburg not even a week ago. Tommy, his little brother who would probably never be the same because of what that green bastard did to him.

Techno highly doubted that Tommy was the one who woke him up, but he discarded his sword on his bed just in case. If there was an intruder in the house, he could take them out with hand-to-hand just as well. And if there were multiple? Techno knew where Phil had hidden his spare sword by the front door just for that reason.

He slipped out of his room quietly, finding no one in the living room where his bedroom door opened opened into.

There was a smell coming from the kitchen though, and warmth radiating from there as well, as if someone had turned the stove on. A soft sizzling was coming from that direction, indicating someone was cooking, and it nearly drowned out the muffled thumps.

Techno crossed the room and went towards the kitchen, peeking around the corner with narrowed eyes. Those narrowed eyes widened, however, when he saw the sight in front of him.

Tommy was on the ground, hissing slightly as he tried to stand up. His bad leg was giving him some trouble, it seemed, and he was clutching tightly onto one of his hands like he burned it.

There was a bowl upside down on the ground, something yellow on the floor surrounding it and dripping from the counter. There were eggshells on the counter too, and a large pan partially filled what Techno assumed to be whisked up eggs in an attempt to make scrambled eggs.

Tommy looked up and finally seemed to see Techno, immediately freezing in his spot on the messy floor. His gray eyes widened, and he stiffened.

Techno shuffled backwards, unsure of what to do here. The only time he’d seen Tommy since they’d originally brought him back from exile was when he was rescuing him and Phil from drowning, and Tommy hadn’t exactly reacted... well to his presence.

He still shuddered at the feeling of Tommy under the water, elbowing him, and then falling limp. His little brother had always been a spitfire, a ball of energy and always fighting him over every little thing.

The hit had felt normal, something Tommy would do.

But everything afterwards had not.

Techno considered calling out for Phil, or for Tubbo, but he was worried raising his voice would scare Tommy further. He’d seen the board that Ghostbur had given Tommy, he’d seen the colors that had been put by his name.

Small amounts of pink, small amounts of red, but way too much purple.

Tommy was _afraid_ of him, _terrified_ of him, _petrified_ of him.

He wasn’t the person to be handling this.

Should he leave? Go get Tubbo or Phil? Get someone who Tommy trusts more? Someone who could help.

**No**

Techno twitched, eyes widening slightly. He hadn’t realized that the voices had gone silent until they had come back. It was not often that the thousands of voices agreed on one singular ideal, but they agreed now. That one word said in unison was chilling to hear, and made him freeze.

**Calm him. Help him. Heal.**

“I hate it when you don’t make sense,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

Tommy blinked up at him, still trembling and tense. His eyes were panicked, yes, but not a much as Techno had originally thought. It was more... caution, confusion, and the tiniest amount of child-like curiosity.

Maybe he could work with that.

**Yes. Help him. Calm him.**

He shook his head again, trying to shake their murmurs from his ears.

Techno took a deep breath, and then lowered himself down into a crouch. His hands, unfortunately were placed directly into the yellow liquid on the floor.

**Don’t lick. Egg.**

The voices being oh so cryptic as always, but he understood what they were trying to get across this time. Egg on the floor, don’t lick it or he’d get sick. Not that he was planning on licking the floor. The voices were just weird sometimes when they tried to warn him of things.

Tommy was watching him carefully, and they were eye level now.

The teen’s eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to figure Techno out. His gray eyes were locked onto the pink haired man’s own dark brown ones, and his nose scrunched up in a way reminiscent of when they were children and Tommy didn’t know how something worked.

“Uh...” Techno mumbled, keeping his voice quiet and as non threatening as possible. Tommy scooted back, slightly, once he started talking, but didn’t flinch. “Do you need some help?”

Tommy didn’t respond, blinking at him, before his gaze scanned Techno, crawling over every inch. The teen’s eyes lingered on Techno’s hands, that were both in view, before looking up to meet his older brother’s eyes once more.

“I mean, if you want to lay in a puddle of egg, that’s fine,” Techno ran on impulse, a sarcastic edge coming into his tone that he immediately regretted. That probably wasn’t helping the situation, but he couldn’t manage to stop himself in time. “Doesn’t seem the most sanitary thing to do, but I won’t judge you.”

Tommy stared at him for another moment, before his mouth twitched and he exhaled in a huff. The corners of his lips curled upwards the slightest amount, but quickly fell back down.

Techno caught it, though, and counted it as a win.

“Here,” Techno extended both his hands, offering them to Tommy. “Let’s get you up, yeah?”

Tommy glanced at his hands with narrowed eyes, seemingly considering them. Several seconds passed, with Techno awkwardly holding out his hands and Tommy just staring at them.

Then finally, _finally_ Tommy shifted his weight and gingerly placed one hand on top of Techno’s, seeming hesitant but not afraid.

“I’m going to pull you up now,” Techno told the teen. “I might grab onto you to steady you. I thought it’d be best to warn you beforehand.”

Tommy glanced up at him, before dipping his head down slightly in a nod.

Techno readjusted his weight, before gripping onto Tommy’s hand more tightly and quickly pulling them both into a standing position.

Tommy yelped, seeming unprepared for the sudden movement, and careened straight into Techno’s chest, hissing in pain.

The older man froze, not wanting to startle him.

Tommy braced his hands on Techno, inhaling sharply through his teeth. There were a few moments of tense silence, before the teen looked up and met his older brother’s eyes once more, and his brows once again furrowed in confusion.

Techno had no idea what was going on through his little brother’s head. The voices didn’t either, based on their confused mutterings in his ears. Tommy was still just... staring at him.

The teen took a few hobbling steps back, clearly favoring one of his legs. **Injured knee. Dream. Broken. Healed wrong.** Tommy let go of Techno in favor ofgripping the counter to steady himself, glancing away from him and towards the floor and the bowl and the counter, and the egg that cover all of those things.

Then he was limping towards the sink, turning it on and rinsing his hands clean of the raw egg, before grabbing a nearby towel and running it under the water too.

Techno, understanding where this was going, crossed the kitchen and stilled Tommy’s hands, gently taking the now-wet towel from the blonde.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “I’ll clean it up. Just uh... go sit down, maybe?”

More furrowed brows and a scrunched nose, this time not even looking directly at him but at his now empty hands. There was a nod, albeit shaky, but a nod nonetheless.

Techno grabbed another nearby towel and passed it to the teen, who dried his hands. Tommy shifted his weight to his other leg, and then immediately shifted it back with a slight gasp. His hands gripped the counter more tightly, for a moment.

The blonde took a deep breath and then looked up at Techno. “Help?” he mumbled, glancing away again as if embarrassed.

“You’re okay with me touching you?” Techno asked, slightly surprising. Getting Tommy off the ground was a brief thing, only a few seconds. Helping Tommy to the kitchen table or the couch would take longer. He hadn’t thought that he’d be okay with that.

“Mm,” Tommy grunted, neither an affirmation nor a denial. He reached for Techno and latched onto one of his arms, leaning his weight onto the older man.

Okay, well that was an answer.

Techno readjusted Tommy’s hold on him, draping one arm over his own shoulders and wrapping an arm around his little brother’s waist.

Tommy was only slightly tense as he helped him over to the kitchen table, the young teen putting little to no weight on his bad leg as they hobbled along.

Sitting him down was harder then helping him up had been, but they managed with a string of pained grunts. Techno, at one point, thought he heard a soft curse in the mix. The voices agreed. **Tommy cursed! SwearInnit. He’s getting better. Maybe.**

Techno ignored them as Tommy released him, now effectively sitting in one of the chairs at the dinner table that had been angled to face the stove. The boy’s eyes shifted from Techno to a small bag, still sitting on the counter.

Ah, the markers.

“I’ll get that,” Techno said before the teen could ask, crossing the kitchen quickly to pick up the bag. The wooden markers inside rattled when he grabbed it, and rattled again as he walked back over to give them to Tommy.

The blonde took the bag gratefully, immediately setting it down on the table and rifling through it, focused entirely on the markers.

Taking this as a sign that Techno was allowed to move freely without startling him, the older man went to work cleaning up the mess on the floor. He grabbed the knocked over bowl and put it in the sink, he wiped up the egg yolk with the towel that Tommy had wet earlier, and finished scrambling the eggs that were already on the stove.

“So... cooking,” Techno interrupted their mutual silence in favor of hopefully getting some answers on how Tommy managed to get into the position he had found him in the first place. “You were trying to make eggs. Did you remember from when we used to do that for Dad, back when we were kids? Is that why?”

A single grunt was his only answer, and when Techno turned around, he saw Tommy fiddling with three of his markers, having taken them out of the bag. One had a red cap, one had a purple cap, and one had a green cap.

Anger, fear, and guilt.

Huh.

Not for the first time, Techno desperately wished he knew what was going on inside his little brother’s head. Then, at least, talking to him would be much easier, and he’d be able to help him through whatever was happening in that brain of his.

“Red, huh?” Techno had never been the best at initiating conversations. With Tommy, he never had to, because the teen would be constantly filling up the silence around them with meaningless chatter, just to hear something. “Are you mad at me for something?”

**Bad question. Uh oh.**

Techno winced. Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best thing to start off with.

Surprisingly, though, Tommy didn’t outwardly react towards the question. Techno had thought the teen was going to freak out and try to convince him that he wasn’t upset.

But Tommy didn’t do or say anything at first. His hands stopped messing with his three markers, but he didn’t even look up.

“Mm,” Tommy sounded like he was struggling to force his vocal cords to work.“No. ‘M not mad at you.”

Tommy was speaking? Okay, Techno could work with that. The voices were cheering in the back of his mind, mumbling about **Progress. HealingInnit. Talking about emotions pog.**

“What are you mad at?” Techno asked, cracking more eggs into a clean bowl. Tommy had already started to make breakfast, he might as well try to finish it.

Tommy sighed, seeming frustrated. “M’self,” the teen mumbled. “Couldn’t cook a fuckin’ egg without messing up.”

Techno... didn’t know how to respond to that. So he moved on. “What about green? Why green?”

Tommy still kept his eyes on the table, not looking up. “Felt bad,” he rasped. “For the mess.”

“And purple?”

Tommy visibly shivered, tensing up. Techno worried that he had gone too far, and the voices agreed. **Too far. Too much. You’re scaring him. Oh no.**

“I made a mess. I couldn’t do such a simple thing,” Tommy whispered, curling in on himself. His hands released the markers as his fingers scrabbled for something that wasn’t there, for a jacket that wasn’t on his shoulders. “I get punished for that.”

Techno knew what the boy was subconsciously looking for. The bright green sweatshirt he had been wearing when they first found him. It had fallen off on the way back to Phil’s house, when Techno had been carrying Tommy away from the prison.

He had found it later, and burned it in a fit of rage. Rage at what Dream had done to his little brother, and rage that Techno hadn’t been able to save the teen from the masked man’s clutches until it was much too late.

Techno’s gaze found his blue and red cloak, the one he had used during his retirement. It was hanging up on a stand by the front door, where it had been since his arrival in L’manburg. It was not nearly cold enough for Techno to need it, so he had disregarded the thing.

Hm.

Techno washed the egg off his hands before crossing the room and taking the cloak off of the coat rack. The fabric was heavy, thick, and soft, almost like a blanket, as he carried it back over to a still-shivering Tommy.

The teen visibly jumped when Techno draped the cloak over his shoulders, eyes widening slightly. It didn’t last long, however, because as soon as the older man removed his hands, Tommy was grabbing at the fabric of the cloak and curling into it, eyes closing.

Thank god, he was finally doing something right.

**Aww. Technosoft. Big brother Technoblade.**

“You won’t get punished for anything,” Techno murmured. “Not like what he did to you. Never again. I swear it.”

Tommy didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. Techno had no idea if the teen had heard him at all, but it didn’t matter.

“I’m gonna finish making breakfast for everyone,” Techno told the boy, gently laying a hand on Tommy’s shoulder for a brief second before moving, heading back towards the stove. “You’re welcome to help me, but if you rather just watch, that’s alright too.”

He received no response once again, but he hadn’t been expecting one.

Techno resumed preparing the eggs, putting minimal salt on it as he remembered Phil doing in an effort to make sure Tommy could keep the food down. He wasn’t sure how much the teen had been eating lately, but he had to assume it still wasn’t a lot. Weeks (had it been months? he wasn’t sure) of minimal food causes your stomach to shrink, the body going into starvation mode. It would take a while to ween Tommy onto eating three full meals every day.

He should’ve been around more. What had happened in Tommy’s exile was unforgivable, and Techno should have _been there_ , because maybe he could’ve seen what Dream was doing and _stopped_ him. He should’ve been there as Tommy slowly began to recover, because maybe he would’ve been able to stop him from jumping into the crater. He should’ve been there as Tommy regained memories he’d lost as a resultof Dream’s beatings, because maybe his little brother wouldn’t be so terrified of him now.

**Tommy not scared,** the voices murmured in protest. **You see earlier. Confused. Unsure. Overwhelmed. Not scared of you. Scared of Dream. Scared of what Dream would have done. If he had been here instead of you.**

The voices were probably right. They were correct most of the time, somehow knowing things that Techno didn’t. Despite their cryptic and unsettling nature, they were helpful some of the time.

**Aww. Techno likes us. Technosoft.**

Whatever.

Techno could hear Tommy moving. The rustling of fabric and the clattering of the wooden markers against each other was quiet, but not completely silent. He didn’t turn around, figuring it was probably for the better if he left the boy to his own thoughts for a few minutes so he didn’t overwhelm him again.

~~By not turning around, he wasn’t made aware of the fact that Tommy had put back his three markers and taken a different one out. The teen fiddled with the cap of the marker, listening to it click as it popped off the wooden handle and back onto it when he forced it down.~~

~~It was sort of a nervous tick, but the color of the marker’s cap signified that Tommy was not feeling nervous.~~

~~The cool cyan color stood out against the pale tones of the wood and the skin of Tommy’s scarred hands.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a competition this week and i’m writing this instead 👍 -R
> 
> EDIT: Just minor edits, dw. ~Eci


	6. Tubbo

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Tubbo steeled himself, taking a deep breath and keeping his narrowed eyes on the thick, piston-powered door in front of him. “Yes, I do.”

Sam was worried for him. Tubbo could tell without even having to look at the creeper hybrid.

This wasn’t about himself, though.

With a creaking groan, the door edged open, revealing a space that Tubbo had only been in once before. He had never wanted to come in here again, but he had to.

He wanted answers. He _needed_ answers.

The large, open room was dark at first, but bright, florescent lights flicked on just a moment after.

The cage was unchanged. The dark netherite bars still stood strong, unyielding. The amount of time it must have taken to shape them still amazed him.

But Tubbo was not focused on the cage. He was focused on the person inside of it.

Said person had his back to him. The only thing visible being messy blonde-brown hair and a dark turtleneck shirt.

“Is it breakfast already?” Dream drawled without turning around. “I could’ve sworn that I still had an hour or two before you came to bug me.”

“We have a few things that need to be discussed,” Tubbo announced, stepping into the room with his hands clasped stiffly behind his back. Dream stiffened the moment the teen spoke, but still refused to turn around. “Things long overdue, if I do say so myself.”

“Mr. President,” Dream, despite being tense, did not lose his smug tone. “I wondered when you’d come to visit me.”

“Cut the shit,” Tubbo replied coldly. “I want answers, and you’re going to give them to me.”

“Or what?” Dream almost sounded _amused_ , the sick fucker. The blonde turned around, leaning forward and pressing his face against the bars, hands cradled against his chest.

Tubbo realized, with a bit of horrible satisfaction, that Dream was _injured_.

He had two twin trails of dried blood staining his upper lip and chin, coming down from his nostrils. His lip was split and swollen, blood staining his mouth there. Bruises littered his face and one of his poisonous green eyes was swollen shut.

There was dried blood trickling down from his hairline. His knuckles were bruised and torn, the fingers on one of his hands practically mangled from what seemed to be multiple breaks in them.

He was wheezing in a way that was not from laughter, but from trying to breathe around probably broken ribs.

But most of all, he was _grinning_. Smirking smugly as if he was in the position of power here. Beaming through bloody teeth and too-sharp canines.

“Admiring Wilbur’s handiwork?” Dream asked, tilting his head slightly. “He likes to visit me, you know, almost every night. He’s a bit sadistic, I think. Likes watching me bleed and listening to my bones break. Likes that I can’t hit him back, because he can go intangible whenever he likes. Sam always fixes me up afterwards, gives me regenwith breakfast.”

“Regen you don’t deserve,” Tubbo could feel his nails digging into his palms, hard enough to hurt. “After what you did, you should be grateful for such mercies.”

“Come on,” Dream smiled. “It’s a taste of my own medicine, I suppose. Being beaten and then forced into healing too quickly in order to keep me healthy? Besides, I didn’t do anything. Not really. Not in the sense of the word.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tubbo hissed, anger leaking into his tone but not quite raising into a shout yet. “Don’t try to pass off the blame here. You are responsible for what happened to him, and you’re going to tell me why.”

“I am?” Dream shrugged, sitting back into a more comfortable position, injured hands falling into his lap. “I guess I am then, Mr. President. Since you say so.What would you like me to tell you?”

Tubbo scowled.

“I’m serious!” Dream protested. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. Whatever will help you sleep at night,” the blonde man rolled his shoulders, his grin becoming more feral. “Whatever will help you live with the guilt.”

“The truth,” Tubbo ordered.

“The truth?” Dream sidled closer to the bars, leaning forward once more. “The truth is I wanted _peace_. Peace to the server, where everyone could get along. A solid unity, a happy family.”

Tubbo felt sick at the use of the word “family”.

“That kind of peace would never have been achievable with Tommy around,” Dream inched forward again. “Not the way that he was.”

“I think that’s enough,” Sam interjected.

“So I broke him,” Dream continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken, his grin growing bigger and bigger with every word. “I broke him until there was nothing left that truly was the great _TommyInnit_. I shaped him, molded him into something that I could work with, something that would allow us to have that peace. I beat him, burned him, choked him, sliced him open to bleed out as if he was nothing more than an animal being prepped to be butchered. And the moment that death came to take him, I intervened to keep him alive. Death is too kind for someone like him, you see.”

Tubbo felt like he was going to throw up, bile rising in his throat. He was frozen. He wanted to run, to get away, so he didn’t have to hear the rest, but he couldn’t move.

“Towards the end, even though he was already right where I wanted him, I kept doing it,” Dream continued to confess, no remorse or guilt on his bare face, just smug victory. “He was so _pathetic_ , you know? Clinging onto me like a chick to it’s mother, especially once I beat all of those pesky memories out of his head. He truly thought I was his only friend, the only one who cared for him. He was wrong.”

Dream lunged forward, hitting the netherite bars with a clang as his good hand wrapped around them. The noise and the sudden movement made Tubbo jump, eyes wide and body trembling.

“He was wrong, because _no one_ cares for him,” Dream grinned, showing off his bloodstained teeth. “Not me, not his father, not his brothers, not his _best friend_. No one.”

“You’re wrong,” Tubbo hated how weak his voice sounded. He hated how shaky his words were. “You’re _wrong_. We do care for him. We always have. The moment we knew, the moment we realized what you were planning, we came for him. If we had known earlier, you would have never gotten away with as much as you did.”

Dream scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It was your fault in the first place. Don’t you remember, Mr. President?”

“You forced my hand. I didn’t— I didn’t have a choice. I was going to bring him back... eventually. I just needed time to work out a plan.”

“You had a choice. Everyone has a choice.”

“You didn’t give me another option.”

“You could have fought me, stopped me from entombing L’manburg.”

“We would have lost, and you know it.”

Dream tilted his head, smiling. “Tommy would have fought me for you.”

Tubbo stiffened, face falling. “I...”

“Tommy would have burned down the world, just for you,” Dream was standing, the rattling of the chains around his ankles nearly sent Tubbo bolting. “Tommy would have done anything for you, but you can’t say the same, can you?”

“Shut up,” Tubbo whispered.

“Tommy would have burned his discs, willingly, if it meant keeping you safe,” Dream inched towards the bars once more, staring intensely at Tubbo. “He would never have exiled you for the sake of L’manburg. You were his _everything_. You know that, right?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s _enough_.”

Sam was standing in front of him now, trident in hand as he stood as a wall between Tubbo and Dream. A wall that Tubbo was, frankly, grateful for.

“I’m only saying the truth,” Dream protested. “That’s what he wanted.”

“Tubbo, I think you should go,” Sam didn’t turn around to speak to the teenager, keeping himself angled between the both of them.

The brunette was not ashamed to admit that the moment Sam said those words, he turned and bolted from where they came.

The sound of his boots hitting the black stone was the only thing he could focus on as he ran and ran and ran and ran. He wasn’t breathing enough, his heart was beating too hard, his hands were shaking too much. Something was _wrong_ , and he had to get _away_.

Tubbo didn’t stop running when he passed Punz, who looked concerned. Tubbo didn’t stop as he left the prison, nor did he stop as he ran down the prime path. He didn’t stop running as others reached out to catch him.

He was running from what he didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to admit that Dream had been right. That Dream had said nothing but the truth, just as Tubbo had demanded him to.

He’d abandoned Tommy, exiled him. Tommy would have never done that to him if their roles had been reversed. And even worse...

Tubbo was the reason that Tommy was so broken. Tubbo was the reason that Tommy didn’t trust anyone. If he hadn’t exiled him, if he had fought for Tommy instead of leaving him out there with Dream, none of this would be happening.

Tommy could’ve been healthy, happy, humming to the music discs and rambling on about something or other.

But no— Tubbo had taken that and smashed it, even if he hadn’t meant to.

That Tommy was _gone_. The blonde teen that he knew was never coming back. There would be no countless words from a familiar voice filling the air. There would be no sitting on the bench and listening to the discs. There would be no happy ending.

Because of Tubbo.

_It was all his fault._

Tubbo didn’t realize he had stopped until a soft humming filled the air.

He blinked, realizing he was sitting on the bench. The bench. He had his head in his hands and he was hunched over, elbows on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks.

There was no jukebox out, nor was there anyone else sitting beside him. But _someone_ was humming.

Tubbo didn’t have time to look up, to find out who it was, before a light touch ghosted over the back of his head. Fingers that were just barely there threaded through his hair.

The brunette couldn’t help but feel the tension leave his body at the touch, despite not knowing who it was. He didn’t remember the last time someone had given him physical affection. It was surely before Tommy’s exile, maybe even earlier than that.

The hand withdrew from his hair, trailing down Tubbo’s spine and resting in between his shoulder blades for a moment. The soft crunching of grass beneath someone’s feet allowed him to hear them come around the side of the bench.

The old wood creaked under someone’s weight as they sat down next to him. Their hand moved once more, trailing upwards to the top of Tubbo’s left shoulder and stopping there. Their grip became more firm, as if they had been nervous about touching him beforehand but no longer held those worries.

Tubbo forced himself to sit up a little straighter, turning to see who it was.

His heart nearly snapped in two when he saw a pair of stormy gray eyes staring at him.

“Tommy?” Tubbo asked hesitantly. “What... how?”

Tommy didn’t respond, just blinking back at him slowly like a cat.

The blonde wasn’t supposed to be outside without someone else to keep an eye on him (in order to prevent a repeat of the crater incident), and there wasn’t anyone nearby other than Tubbo.

Tommy could have gotten hurt, and no one would know because he was out here by _himself_. Oh fuck. Had he snuck out of Phil’s house? Was this the first time, or had he done it before?

He wasn’t given time to properly worry, however, when the clattering of wooden markers knocking against each other caught his attention. His gaze shifted to the bag in Tommy’s hands as it was offered to him shakily.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Tubbo rushed to stop him, laying his hands over Tommy’s and guiding them back into the younger teen’s lap. “I’m not going to take them from you. I don’t want them, I promise.”

Tommy’s nose scrunched up and his brows furrowed, staring at Tubbo as if he’d grown a second head. There was a slightly exasperated look in his eyes, and if he didn’t know any better, there was slight amusement on his face as well.

The bag was once more pushed into Tubbo’s hands, this time more forcefully. Tommy’s fingers latched onto Tubbo’s and forced him to grab onto the bag.

The brunette glanced from the bag to Tommy, confused. It was almost as if Tommy was _insisting_ that he take it, if in not so many words.

After a few moments of staring, the younger teen seemed to get frustrated. He pushed the bag further into Tubbo’s hands, more forcefully. He didn’t look upset, but there was a semblance of annoyance on his face. It was so clearly a face that the old Tommy would have made, and Tubbo found himself staring at the blonde with tears in his eyes.

“Tommy... I’m sorry,” Tubbo mumbled, ducking his head and looking away. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. It— It was all my fault. Everything... everything that happened to you was because of me. If— If I hadn’t been a _coward_ , if I hadn’t exiled you, none of this would’ve happened. It’s all my fault and I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Silence. Just the whistling of the wind and the subdued noises of far-away animals. Tommy didn’t say a word.

Then, the dragging of fabric against wood. Grass crunching beneath feet. The bench groaning as weight redistributed on it.

Tubbo felt a hand intertwine with his, disentangling his grip on the bag and interlocking their fingers. Tommy’s grip was tight, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable. It was almost... desperate, as if he was trying to keep himself grounded. Tubbo glanced over, not daring to breathe as if the simple gesture was so fragile that just gasping would break the hold.

The whole world seemed to still, and it was just them. Together. Holding hands. Like they used to do all the time. It felt, briefly, as if nothing had ever happened. As if Tommy had never been exiled, never been tortured. As if Wilbur wasn’t dead, and Dream wasn’t in prison. As if L’manburg wasn’t a hole in the ground, as if Schlatt never existed.

They were just holding hands, but it was enough to bring another round of tears. Because Tommy was initiating it, and Tommy wasn’t letting go. He didn’t seem scared, he seemed normal. Like maybe he was finally healing.

Tubbo was pulled against Tommy by the younger teen, until their shoulders were pressed together and his head accidentally knocked against the blonde’s. He tensed, waiting for Tommy to freak out and pull away, but nothing happened.

In fact, Tommy reached forward with his other hand, the one not entangled with Tubbo’s, and gently guided the brunette’s head until it was leaning on the younger teen’s shoulder.

Tubbo’s breath hitched, and he wiped away the tears spilling down his cheeks with his sleeve, scrubbing at his eyes until the skin around them was practically raw.

He felt Tommy squeeze his hand, gently, and then Tommy was leaning his head on top of Tubbo’s.

And fuck, that only made him cry harder.

“Why’re you doing this?” He mumbled, sniffling. The guilt was overpowering, a murmuring voice in his head that told him he didn’t deserve to be comforted by Tommy, not after everything that he put the blonde through. But despite this, he couldn’t force himself to pull away. “I’m the whole reason what happened in exile happened. It was all my fault. You should hate me, you should be pissed at me, screaming at me. Why are you doing this?”

Tubbo glanced towards Tommy, who hadn’t pulled away. The younger teen wasn’t even looking at him, staring straight ahead at the skyline.

Tommy hummed, and his throat worked for a moment, as if he was going to either throw up or he was struggling to speak. Tubbo couldn’t help but stare at the thick white scar that now ran across the width of the blonde’s neck, a scar that had been smooth, pale skin not even a few months ago.

“‘M tired...” Tommy rasped, but with a strength to his voice that had been missing ever since he returned. “‘M tired of people tellin’ me what I s’ould be doing.”

Tubbo was stunned into silence, but Tommy didn’t even seem to notice, he just kept going.

“‘M not the person I was,” Tommy’s words were croakier, more slurred than they’d been before his exile, but they were understandable. “‘M not the person you guys rem’mber me to be. I d’n’t think I can be that person again, bein’ ‘onest. So I s’ouldn’t be doin’ anythin’.

“I d’n’t rem’mber a lot of stuff. ‘Ts all fuzzy, and I doubt ‘ts gonna be gettin’ any clearer. I d’n’t know if ‘m s’pposed to be mad at you for “exilin’” me, but ‘m not. Maybe the person you rem’mber s’ould be, but me? ‘M not.

“You can be sorry, I guess. That’s your pre— per— fuckin’— I dunno. ‘Ts your right, if you wanna be sorry. But ‘m not gonna be mad at you, or scream at you, for somethin’ I d’n’t rem’mber you doin’.”

Tubbo sniffled, wiping his eyes again and looking down at the bag of markers in his hand. He knew the meanings... maybe the reason why Tommy gave him this was so he could pick a marker? He gingerly started sorting through the markers absentmindedly as Tommy continued talking. It was the most he’d heard him say ever since he came home.

“I do rem’mber some things,” Tommy admitted, his voice slowly rising out of its mumble, but still hoarse. “About you, that is. I rem’mber bees, you had a lot of ‘em. You like ‘em, I think, would lead ‘em around like— like— like balloons. Never got stung, Phil told me that.

“I rem’mber... fightin’, with you. Not against you. We fought together a lotta times, n’ver really won, I think, but we still fought.

“I rem’mber... seein’ you on a stage. I was so pissed... there were a lotta lights, and you were really hurt, bleedin’ everywhere. I fought to get to you, then I later fought for you, I think. In a stone hole. Against... against... Techno, I think. I was pissed at him, I don’t know why. I just know it was for you, and I got my ass kicked.”

Tommy huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Techno was a bad guy, then. I don’t think he is now... but that’s beside the point. I fought for you, lost, but I still fought.

“I may not be that same person, and man am I tired of fightin’, but I’d still fight for you. And I know... I know you would fight for me too. You already have, I think, a lot. Savin’ me from...” Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed, and Tubbo felt him shudder. “My brain’s fucked.”

Tubbo couldn’t help himself, he giggled, quietly. “So’s mine, I think,” he mumbled, thinking back to the little voice he kept hearing. He was pretty sure normal brains don’t have those.

“Brain fucked bros?” Tommy asked, sitting up straight and glancing over at Tubbo.

The brunette laughed again. “Brain fucked bros,” he agreed weakly.

Tommy nodded, glancing down at Tubbo’s hands. The older teen followed his gaze, finding that the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Tommy’s was clutching a marker that he had pulled from the bag without really paying attention.

The cap was a bright magenta... which was about right, if Tubbo was being honest. That was the right color he was feeling.

“Now none of that,” Tommy said, still hoarse but with a hint of emotion that Tubbo couldn’t place.

Tommy disentangled their hands, reaching for the bag and rifling through it for a few seconds before pulling out two markers. One was bright pink, the other a soft, light blue.

Tubbo’s breath hitched as Tommy uncapped the pink marker with his teeth, took the brunette’s hand in his own, and swiped the felt tip down the back of it.

Pink dye stained Tubbo’s skin, and he stared at the thick line that the marker had left behind, inhaling sharply when it finally clicked in his brain what pink meant.

Vaguely, he was aware of Tommy putting away the pink marker, and another marker of a color that Tubbo didn’t recognize the meaning of, cyan.

“I’m not—” Tubbo started, but was silence when Tommy’s hand slapped over his mouth.

“To me you are,” Tommy was staring at him intensely when the brunette raised his head to meet the younger teen’s eyes.

Eyes that were still stormy gray, but almost... less so. They were darker than usual, and slightly... off. Still grayish, but there was a hint of another color there that Tubbo couldn’t quite see.

But he wasn’t focused on that, he just saw the light blue marker tucked behind Tommy’s ear.

Sky...

Tubbo almost burst into tears again, but was pulled to his feet by Tommy.

“C’mon,” Tommy urged, a small smile pulling at his lips. That was what truly made tears start falling. Because Tommy was _smiling_. Smiling for the first time since before his exile, and even though it was small, it was a start. “Let’s go back to Phil before he dies of a heart attack when he sees I’m gone.”

“Old man,” Tubbo agreed weakly in between sniffles. “Can’t have him kicking the bucket just yet.”

“He is quite old, isn’t he?” Tommy screwed up his face in thought as he led Tubbo down the Prime Path, hesitating at every intersection while he tried to remember where to go.

Tubbo didn’t say a word, letting Tommy figure it out. Each time he took them the right way, the world seemed a little brighter, Dream’s words a little more bullshit. Each time he chose which way to go and glanced back at Tubbo for confirmation and he nodded, Tommy’s smile got a little bigger.

It didn’t take long at all for them to reach L’manburg, Tommy leading the way the entire time.

And even though there was surely a shitstorm ahead of them when Phil realizes that Tommy got out of the house without him noticing, if he hadn’t realized Tommy was gone already, Tubbo didn’t really care.

Because even though this was probably just a good day for Tommy, and there were surely more bad days to come, things were getting better. At least, Tubbo hoped they were.

But when Tommy stopped in front of Phil’s door, and Tommy turned back to look at him with a triumphant grin, Tubbo realized there was no “hoping”.

Things were looking up. They were healing. _Tommy_ was healing.

That’s the only thing Tubbo could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though we may be done with Color Theory, we’re not quite done with this series yet. Thank you for the love and support, and stay tuned! -R

**Author's Note:**

> Eci’s Twitter: [@ecinue_unicorn](https://twitter.com/ecinue_unicorn)  
> R’s Twitter: [@Rose12610](https://twitter.com/Rose12610)  
> R’s Tumblr: [@alwaysananxiousmess](https://alwaysananxiousmess.tumblr.com/)  
> Eci’s Tumblr: [@ecinue-unicorn](https://ecinue-unicorn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> We heard y’all wanted comfort? A recovery sequel? Come get y’all juice, cause we feed all you fuckers. /j
> 
> Here’s our color theory document btw, you’ll need to know this for most things to make sense: [color sheet](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1JBioc_wYQZbPeP26SW1tvgORPfxgaacN2FUqm1Xq4ps/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> (I fucked with trying to get the link to embed for so long you have no idea -R)  
> (Update: I fixed the link. It should work now if you just click on the underline/highlighted words. -Eci)


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